Halloween hijinxs
by Dying Rose on The Vine
Summary: Ignore the vile shortness of Chapter one, this crass, tasteless , and yet superific story will warm your heart by time you get to chapter four.
1. Chapter before the start

_**-Awful Short start to an Awful holiday story-**_

_On the night before Saint's day_

_And not a sound through the house_

_But creatures were stirring_

_Both Monster and Mouse_

_The men were all hung on the gallows with care_

_For hop of redemption_

_Lingers in the air…_

_Ah, what a glorious joyful holiday Halloween is, and nary to anyone who should try and marry another holiday to it. The King _

_of this land of scares knows this lesson well…but others must learn to wait their turn, for you cannot cut those who have no _

_skin._

_The doors should remain locked, and remain in their world until their day bacons…but some are impatient, bloodthirsty too…_

_let's just see what Old Jack will do._


	2. No more Fun

**No More Fun**

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Disclaimer: I have nothing to be sued yet- sweet..ooh, um, so…the things I stole I'm sorry. Forgive me, god does

Author's note: Yo, I'll be adding review answers in this on, cause you guys rock

To Igbogal- I like Trigun too! - I'm naming my son Legato. Anywho, thank ya kindly, this ones for you!

To IamtheIinteam: Oo, you have a few nice stories yourself. And you shouldn't try to make things rhythm, it just comes naturally actually. XD…HOLY FISH! LOOK AT ALL THOSE CHAPTERS!

To Lydia Deetz: Oh god, I wrote bacon didn't I. Well, you'll notice that my proof reading skill equal to the proof reading skills of mayo. Thanks! - I'll go fix it…eventually.

**Thanks for R&Ring. I never got so many reviews at once!! You make me sooo happy. You should do it again.**

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_The nightmares were swirling around in my head_

_(while bugs of variety danced on my bed)_

_And I in my silken gown and in my four post bed_

_Had went down for sleeping as though I were dead_

_When I heard such a clatter_

_Like bones that shake and shatter_

_I had to get up and see what's the matter._

"No one caaaares." A girl whined, well, maybe not a girl, she must have been at least fifteen if anything. She was sitting most un-lady like in a blue beanbag chair in front of a small coloured T.V that was playing politic commercial again. Vote for this person, because he believes that, pasha, what a load of nonsense. She flicked through the four channels she had, she should have been watching Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin but it has been cancelled…but why?

**Dear Public of Courthrythstone,**

**We are sorry and yet delighted to inform you that the East Coast of America will be the first to experience Purification of our lives thanks to our universal leader. We are pleased to inform you that this takes place as of Oct. 31. Do not celebrate this or any holiday after or you will be punished.**

**Thank you,**

**Your hard working mayor**

**Martian Okanasa**

She let the controller slip through her hands sadly, as an orange tabby jumped up on to her lap. He was a long fellow with an abnormally small head and the most brilliant bright green eyes a cat had ever had.

"Oh, Conan, what ever will we do?" She asked him, he crocked his head and looked back, fully understanding but not quiet grasping.

The girl sighed, her chest rose in her grey nightgown that was covered in various crumbs that rolled off. She hadn't moved much since the news came out. Honestly, what was the point of life? Holidays were why she was alive; it was all she had left…

Her home rested on the corner of North Brustwing and Downings lane, as every one knew, for everyone avoided it. The house had the unfotune of being build right next to the St. Clair cemetery, were the war veterans from the Iraq Conflict laid. The house was a drab stone one, with creaky hinges and bestial statues guarding the massive front lawn. The lawn was unnaturally wilted, yet the vine like plants looked rather happy. The brave that ventured out could see these plants bloom at night in the most beautiful yellow and white, and if you waited long enough, you'd see the Widow Lady.

The Window Lady is the very same that was sitting in the beanbag chair on an old wooden floor. Why do you become a widow when you don't have a male companion? She had many, at one time or another, but could never keep them. Things always went wrong in the end, but, oh!, how she wished they didn't end in those horrid ways, but that's what you get when you are what she was. But, besides that, she didn't match the widow description, or even the spookiness of her home. She had a cheerful heart shaped face, beautiful tilted eyes (though they had bags underneath them), and well kept (most of the time) blond hair and always came out in neat looking and clean clothes. She was neither sane nor insane, but that didn't make her a Widow. And as for the lady part, she was very polite to people she didn't know, but some collage kids and high school students can recall dimly about the time she attended school when they looked on the close sect of her friends, and how they would talk and talk and talk about the darnist things that would make a pastor cry.

Her rooms were cold and all painted in drab and dark colours, the walls were either covered in the mirrors or grotesque pictures displaying someone or something sinning or being eaten. (She did such a thing through her house, reflecting on her odd background, of course.) Some were prints, but most she painted herself, back when she had the go get, back when she was in school (and before school of course), weeks after she left, but soon decay set in, and the rot destroys creativity. The room she sat in was round and colder than all the other rooms, despite the electric hum that was being given through the room. The reason for being the coldest was simple; its wall was pure window. This wide window let in a stream of weak moonlight from the full moon in the sky. Of the late, the moon and its shadows had been so weak.

The girl looked from the evening news to look outside. Her cat meowed in question but she just shook her head. She stood up and looked out the window.

"In this house," She sang, in a melodramatically depressing voice, "these hallow walls."

Her cat meowed, as she touched the fogged up window with a sharply manicured finger.

"Are hollow dreams," She pressed her forehead against the cold glass, her breath fogging it up,"the ones that fall. Like rats in a maze, they run around crazed, raping my brain with their hollow thoughts."

Her cat looked at her questionably.

"People!" She answered, slamming the window with her hand, causing it to rattle. "Rats in their cages, only to get out." She grasped her head, as though in pain. "What we hate is what we become, thus the circle of hatred carries on."

She flipped the latch the held the window respectfully shut. It was rusted and the paint was chipping from it.

"Hollow men," She pulled open the window, the night breeze brought in copper and brown leaves from a near by tree, taking her newly shed tears with the leaves. "Hollow people, every woman, every child, every thing."

Stepping out with a long leg, the leg wasn't long per say, it was just long versus her torso. The other leg followed, and she sat down, swinging her legs over the stony ledge. The texture brought her some joy, for some odd reason.

The smile sprouted on the melancholy face she wore.

The flowers in her yard and all the nocturnal plants spread their leaves and petals towards the moon, but the beams were too weak to satisfy them. They shacked in agony, it seemed, withering and hissing in the autumn air. How they longed for the moon, how she agreed with them. How sad it made her to see them suffer, maybe more than she was. Her cat jumped out the window, a thin comic in his mouth.

"Not today, no- Hollowed eyes! Looking back at me!" She stood up, thin arms spread wide, arms that could hug ten people at once, arms that could strangle ten people at once. Her voice in a fever pitch/ "From the gates of Hell! Cried the morning bells like broken glass, my broken dreams, hard dry grass. Let no other come near me- Pigs in rat skins! Let me fall to the shadows! Let me give my soul to the Earth!" She held the note so shrill that the wind screamed.

She moved a foot forward, almost ready to jump when Conan dropped the comic and mewed. This soft gentle noise brought her back to earth so to speak. She smiled and exhumed a sigh; place her hands behind her back and lead, expecting to fall on the floor like usual.

But, no, in place of the floor was hard cold glass. Her heart skipped a beat as she casted a look over her shoulders but she never got a look at the closer of her window for who ever it was, a man she was sure, flung the window back open with a tremendous force. She let out an ear piecing scream. Now, she figured earlier that day that she had only four good screams left in her, but this one was ripped out of her body. A scream so terrible that the robber was taken aback, forgetting his plan.

Her hands gripped the ledge hard, trying to pull herself up. Thanks to her abnormally long legs, she could climb up like a spider. Conan, the tabby cat, jumped back into the house, as the robber picked up an extra loot bag that was totally empty and much smaller.

She was ready to scream again, building it up, but focusing on climbing. She was so close, so almost there, when the uninvited guest dived upon her suddenly, throwing the small bag over her head. There must have been some sort of fumes in the bag, because she found her self unable to think, or breath for that matter.


	3. Through his Green Eyes

**Through His Green Eyes**

Disclaimer: While I wonder drip and dreamy, I saw a duck He said not to steal, so I didn't.

Author's notes: I wish it would double space like I want it too

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_Up through the earth I flew like a wrath_

_Tore open the doors to my coffin bed_

_The full moon grinning like a skeletal head_

_Gave luster to the dismay scene_

_When, what to my hard shot gaze should appear_

_But the Court of the Dead and the King, Lord of Fear _

Conan Orthlord Weasely has lived for a long time, much longer than many cats have, in fact. And, with each life, his memories of his past seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer, but it hardly matters when you have a good set of lives.

Life number one started at the beginning of time, in another land, a land called Narnia. You may have read that book, and yes it was based on a land that Conan came from, but fiction is far from fact. Before the land of Mortal Man was established and long before elf, dwarfs and the whole rest of the humanoid creatures, the land of Beast was created. It is said that the four Gods of Narnia came from another universe that died out, and started a new here. A clean slate.

Aslan of the East was the Lord of all land animals that went upon four legs, winged and unwinged, with exception of animals we know belong on the Chinese zodiac.

Eshmarh of the West was the Lord of all that went on two legs and flew. And he neither owned the magic beasts.

Imrik of the North ruled over the pure animals, ones who will always be pure. These animals were and have always been; the dog, the ox, the mouse, the rabbit, the horse, the sheep, and the pig.

Thriv-tar of the South ruled over the unpure animals. These animals could take different forms, lies, cheat and steal. These animals were and have always been; the cat and all its relatives, the monkey, the rat, the rooster, the goat and the boar.

Cold blooded creatures did not exist.

It is said that darkness was born first and happens at the end of any creatures reign. Winds from all directions blew all at once, spreading seeds from the last reign, a reign where plants ruled. The seeds took hold and made ground. They grew fast, hoping for another chance at life. This was short lived as the animal Gods stepped on to the new world. With their voices, they each created their given animals. Two by two, male and female.

Or, at least that's how the old preacher would tell it. Conan remembered those things, and he remembered Christmas, and he remembered the end of the world.

His ninetieth Christmas was the best of ever. The land was covered in thick layers of pure white snow. He remembered curling up next to a warm fire made by the magic of two elder hens. He never understood fire making. The unicorns near by ate the sweetest snow crystals from the pines, and the doves fluttered from branch to branch. Father Christmas stopped, giving them all a grand meal of honeyroses, dewflowers, and rich cocoa soup. Each of them got a present. Mrs. Hen received a box of bugs, (Mind you, none of them knew what bugs where, just that they were tasty. Somewhere, bugs lived happily in a town called Bugday, ruled by a mighty king.) Miss Hen received a shinny roll of tinsel. The Unicorn all got different coloured rings, and the dove's tiny bells for their toes. Conan was sure he had gotten the best gift ever invented in the gifts of gifts. It was a shinny blue collar, with golden bells. Together, they created a Christmas symphony. (Raimundo said, "More tired than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest." So did Madame Foster!! From that show !)

The end of the world was a dramatic cause for anyone, but for a cat, it was most enjoyable. Two Gods from other planes, Murah and Tarah, challenged the beast gods for their land. Murah hated Tarah, and Tarah hated Murah. Tarah brought bugs and fishes, while Murah brought lizards and amphibians. It looked like the world was over for the Beasts that inhabited the land, when Father Christmas saved them all by sending powered snow across the land. Bugs withered and died, fished froze in the water, and the scaly cold-blooded creatures stopped moving. Murah and Tarah saw that they were losing, so, to avoid this, they teamed up and asked held from the evil dragons. They agreed.

The dragons, being warm-blooded, were unaffected by the love of Christmas time and the cold created by Jack Frost. They melted the snow, which woke the bother some cold-blooded beasts and destroyed everything…or did they?

Lady Thriv-tar fell in love with a male dragon. The dragon informed the unpure animals that could eat the fish, bugs and all the critters brought by the new gods. And so it came to past that the unpure creatures ruled over the pure. And for centuries it looked like it would remain that way forever, when the pure creatures and the neural creatures stood up for a final battle that ripped the world apart.

Conan didn't bother staying in the afterlife; after all, basking in hell fire seemed kind of a let down.

From then, Conan had his share of homes and hearths. From the town that celebrated Cats, to Egypt itself- (He had a wonderful time with Mr. Poe) extending on and on to today. Today it seemed that his seventh would end in a heart attack.

He ran through the night as the cars swerved and weaved on the surprisingly icy night. His green eyes of beauty locked on to the ugly green car that his Master had been kidnapped and so rudely been thrown in.

Conan jumped up the leafless trees of the night as the wind sang harsh Oos in the air. He was the car turn the corner and so did he, with out looking both ways. A small red car came flying by, hitting him 'dead'-on. He went flying just as the criminal got out of the car with his girl in his arms.

Though he'd never know it, Conan did save her life that night. His dead body hit the man in the face, causing him to release Conan's Master.

The villain flung off the dead cat, but the girl he was planning to rape and cut into tiny pieces fell over the old wooden bridge and vanished.

Conan was on to his eighth life.


End file.
